


A Long Way to Go

by mille_libri



Series: At Your Side [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke and Fenris are talked into attending a hunting party in Orlais, the mess that results makes them reconsider their plans for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes It's an Ambush

Fenris stretched his feet out toward the fireplace with a contented sigh. It was finally beginning to warm up outside—while he still needed the fire to penetrate deep to his chilled bones, he wasn’t also huddling amongst blankets wearing Hawke’s fluffy wool robe in addition. She got no end of amusement from the sight of him wearing the garment, but he found it rather ridiculous and fled the room whenever anyone came to visit. Even Sandal’s curious face and Bodahn’s carefully averted eyes made him feel self-conscious. Not enough to spend the winter blue with cold, however. Hence the robe.

Now he could finally do without it, and had consigned the blasted thing to the depths of the wardrobe waiting for next year’s freezing autumn to arrive. And, in addition to the arrival of temperate weather, Hawke was experiencing the longest period of quiet and peace since he had known her—no bandits, no malefactors, no upheavals. It was utter bliss … for Fenris. Hawke, on the other hand, was restless and unsettled, and therefore spending far too much time in the Hanged Man with Varric. They had given up drunken debauches years ago, but the number of drinks she was willing to consume in a night had increased in recent months. Isabela was no help—she matched Hawke drink for drink, and then some. The pirate was spending a lot of time ashore, even with her beloved ship at her beck and call. Fenris believed the siren’s song that was holding his friend to Kirkwall came from high in the Gallows, where Bethany reigned as First Enchanter, but he and Hawke rarely spoke of that. Much as she loved Isabela, she had a difficult time seeing the pirate as a valid choice as a partner for her sister. Fenris didn’t believe that was Hawke’s decision to make, but he knew her position as regarded Bethany, and knew it would not change as long as Bethany remained inside the Gallows.

He heard the door open and close, and Hawke’s merry voice speaking to Bodahn, and a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fire.

“There you are.” Her voice was a purr from the doorway.

“Was I difficult to locate?”

“Well, I didn’t check in bed yet, but I was hoping to find you there.”

“Please pardon me for not living up to your expectations.” He had barely finished speaking when he found himself with a lap full of warm, giggling Hawke, which was certainly an improvement on the rest of his evening, and neatly resolved his concerns about being too cold. “I take it there was much entertainment to be had at the Hanged Man.”

“Mm-hm.” She was kissing his neck, which made it difficult to understand what she was saying and equally difficult to concentrate. “Varric made a new friend. Or remade an old one? Hard to say.”

“What kind of new friend?” Fenris asked, somewhat breathlessly.

Hawke shifted so that she was straddling his lap. “His name’s Edge, or something like that. Said he had a job for the Champion.” She rubbed herself against him. “Feels like you do, too.” She giggled again, her fingers fumbling at the fasteners of his breastplate.

“Edge is … uh … quite a name. What kind of job?” He wasn’t sure he cared, not with Hawke’s tongue busily exploring the skin she had bared, brushing maddeningly over the lines of lyrium in his throat and chest.

“Didn’t say. Meeting him in the market tomorrow, after dark.”

Fenris moaned, leaning back to let her have better access. “Sounds like an ambush.”

“You always think there’s an ambush. But right now …” She nuzzled her cheek against his stomach, her hair brushing against his skin. “Right now I’m not concerned with ambushes. Or fighting. Or Varric’s contacts. Are you?” Her hand did something wicked in a very sensitive spot, and Fenris cried out, arching against her. Hawke chuckled deep in her throat. “Didn’t think so.”

And she proceeded to keep him distracted for a good long time.  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
The memory of that night was not warming him at all as he stood stamping his feet in the darkness of the Hightown market.

“Must it always be outdoors?” he groused. “And must they always arrive so late?”

“There does seem to be a lot of no one,” Hawke agreed, looking around at the deserted market. “You sure we have the right night?” she asked Varric.

He threw up his hands. “Yes! I don’t get it—Edge is usually so reliable.”

“’Edge’? You’re trusting someone named after a blade?” Isabela appeared from the shadows where she had been waiting. “I think he’s a no-show, Varric.”

“Or it’s an ambush,” Fenris said, crossing his arms over his chest for a meager amount of extra warmth. “This is normally when that happens.”

“Come on, Broody, it’s not always an ambush,” Varric protested. And then, as Antivan Crows seemed to rise from every surface, he groaned. “All right, maybe sometimes it’s an ambush. I hate it when you’re right.”

“I do, as well.” Fenris surveyed the Crows warily.

But before any of them, including the Crows, could act, a dagger came whistling through the air, landing itself squarely in the eye of the closest Crow. Then a red-haired elf did some flips and rolls, not unlike Isabela’s usual fighting style, and took out about five others before standing up, turning to Hawke, and saying, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

It was on the tip of Hawke’s tongue to tell whoever this was that she was doing fine and please keep it up, but Varric was readying Bianca and Isabela had already disappeared into the shadows, so Hawke sighed and pulled her sword. “Varric, who the blazes is that?” she asked.

He shrugged, planting one of Bianca’s sharp barbed tongues deep in the throat of a Crow. “Don’t know!” he shouted, because the noise in the market had ratcheted up quite a bit. “Kill people, then ask!”

From across the market, the strange elf shouted, “Good plan!”

"So glad she approves," Hawke muttered under her breath before joining battle. There were a rather large number of Crows here, and she wondered why. She was hardly a threat to anyone these days; Kirkwall had been so quiet. Not that she minded that, exactly—she just wasn't used to it. Nevertheless, it seeemed extravagant on someone's part to want to take her out this badly.

The others had thrown themselves into the scrap with enthusiasm; it had been a long time without a fight for them, as well. And when Fenris, Isabela, and Varric were all enthusiastic about something, they tended to do it well. Hawke was proud of her people—they still had it.

The elf seemed less impressed. Looking around at the fallen bodies, she sniffed. “Sloppy.” Only when she kicked one of the Crows did Hawke realize she was talking about the assassins rather than Hawke's team. “You'd think the Crows would be better at this. They've been doing it for ages.”

“Were these Crows a gift from you? That's generous,” Hawke said.

“I would have said extravagant.” Fenris appeared unimpressed by the mysterious elf.

The elf sauntered across the courtyard to stand in front of Hawke—not without a sidelong glance in Fenris's direction, however. “Oh, I didn't arrange this,” she said breezily. “But it's no coincidence I'm here. My name is Tallis, and I've been looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” Hawke was torn between annoyance and interest. It had been awfully quiet lately.

“Looking for the woman who has an invitation to Chateau Haine, to be specific.”

Hawke was at sea. “Chateau Haine? Is that a restaurant?”

“Oh, yes!” Varric said, as the light dawned. “That's what Edge was on about. Hawke, you remember Duke Prosper, the one who fawned all over you at the Champion of Kirkwall banquet?”

Behind her, Fenris growled softly, “I remember Duke Prosper.”

Hawke stifled a grin. While she had certainly never given Fenris any reason to be jealous, sometimes he found it quite inspirational. The night after that banquet had been far more memorable than this duke, whoever he was.

Varric said, “The duke was telling you about some hunt at his family's estate.” He put on a dreadful fake Orlesian accent. “'A tradition in my family for ze last zo many ages, 'awke, and we would be zo honored if you could attend.'”

“I doubt I'd go to that sort of thing,” Hawke said, shuddering.

Tallis cleared her throat. “I was ... kind of hoping I could convince you to reconsider. The duke is a delightful host, or so I hear.”

“Kind of you to take such interest in my social calendar. I take it, for you, there's more to it than a long way to go for an overly complicated meal?”

Her features tightening, Tallis said, “I need to relieve him of something he has no right to possess, and I can't do it alone.”

“Short version: You want to rob him.” Hawke was going to kill Varric. Whatever had he possibly said that made it sound like she was a thief for hire?

Varric grinned at her, as if he could read her thoughts. Which he probably could, come to think of it. “Stealing from Orlesians is never wrong ... or so I've heard.”

“This isn't how I was planning to ask you this,” Tallis said. “I was planning an introduction with ...” she looked around at the carnage spread through the marketplace, “less blood.”

“What makes you think I steal things just because people ask me to?” Hawke asked in annoyance.

“I would,” Isabela murmured.

“You're such a giver, Isabela,” Fenris murmured back.

“I know.”

Hawke glared at both of them, and then transferred the glare to Varric when he cleared his throat and said, “I ... may have talked you up a bit. Maybe more than once.”

“Varric.” Hawke groaned. “Haven't you learned not to do that by now?”

“Next time, I'll just tell everyone how you slaughtered your way through half of Kirkwall. Think that will result in more interesting offers?” Varric said tartly. They raised their eyebrows at each other in a silent staring contest.

Hawke sighed, looking away first.

Tallis, looking rather awkward, said, “All I've heard is that you get things done. I hope that's true, at least.”

“Oh, she gets things done, all right,” Isabela said. “Doesn't leave much standing when she's finished, though. Duke what's-his-name doesn't seem to have heard that, has he?”

“Thank you, Isabela.” Turning to Tallis, Hawke shrugged. “I suppose there's no harm in hearing you out.”

A delighted smile spread across the elf's face. “Looks like they were right about you.”

“Er, by 'they', I assume you mean me,” Varric said, coughing ostentatiously.

Tallis transferred her smile to him. “Evidently.”

“So, what exactly is it you want me to steal?” Hawke asked.

“A jewel.”

“Ooh, I love jewels!” Isabela exclaimed.

Ignoring the pirate, Tallis moved closer, her voice dropping. “The duke thinks it's valuable—and it is, just not in the way he believes. What's more, he shouldn't have it in the first place. He who wishes to walk on water must first learn to swim,” she muttered, half to herself.

Hawke wondered briefly what that was supposed to mean, and decided not to bother asking. She wasn't sure she trusted this elf, she wasn't sure what she was being asked to get herself into, and all things considered, she would rather just go home.

Tallis must have sensed that she was losing her fish, because she looked at Hawke beseechingly. “Come with me to Chateau Haine,” she said. “I'll explain everything on the way.” When Hawke hesitated, she added, “If nothing else, you'll get fine wine and fancy company, and the chance to hunt a wyvern. But ... I hope you want more than that.”

Hawke looked at Tallis, then at Varric, then around at Fenris and Isabela. Inconclusive—they would go if she asked them to, but none of them would express any enthusiasm.

“When is this event at Chateau Haine?”

“In ten days. If we leave tomorrow or the day after, we should be there more or less on time.”

“Fine. Come to my mansion tomorrow. Alone,” she added, looking around at the bodies of the Crows with distaste. “And we'll discuss it further.” 

Tallis clearly wanted to argue, but a look at Hawke's face seemed to tell her it wasn't going to get her anywhere. “Very well,” she said instead, and melted into the shadows.

The four of them walked back to the Hanged Man together, chatting lightly as they went. By custom, they saved business for the moment they were ensconced at the usual back table, mugs of ale in hand. Then three inquiring faces turned to Hawke.

“Well, sweet thing, did the elf make an impression on you? She was sure trying to make an impression on someone.” Isabela winked in Fenris's direction.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. Had Tallis been flirting with Fenris? She hadn't noticed, if so, and from Fenris's rather blank expression, neither had he.

“I can't say I found her all that compelling. Strange, yes, but not compelling.” She looked at Varric. “Can you give me any reason why I should go off to Orlais and go to this Duke Prosper's stupid wyvern hunt?”

He shrugged. “When was the last time you hunted wyvern?”

“I was rather hoping my hunting days were over.”

“If it comes to that,” Isabela said, “when was the last time you got out of Kirkwall?”

“Does Sundermount count?” 

“Or that Grey Warden fortress in the Vimmarks?” Fenris put in, shuddering.

“See?” Hawke asked. “I go places. I do things.”

“Yes, but fighting demons on a mountaintop and killing a big angry old darkspawn hardly compare to being pampered at a fancy estate in Orlais.” Isabela looked surprisingly earnest about it. “You need a vacation; this could be just the thing.”

“What do you think?” Hawke asked Fenris.

“I cannot imagine Duke Prosper would look favorably on my presence.”

“Well, I'm not going without you.” She reached out and took his hand. “Duke Prosper can take me—and you—as we are, or he can do without the Champion of Kirkwall's presence.”

“So you're going, then?” Varric asked. He knew her far too well, knew how rootless and unsettled she felt.

“We're going,” she corrected him, and at his look of blank panic, grinned. “Come on, what would I do without my trusty dwarf?”

“Hawke, you have to be kidding! What would I do in Orlais?”

“Eat fine food, charm some really boring people, help me break into a noble's house and steal something. What would you do here?”

“Fine. Why do I even bother to argue?”

“I'm sure I don't know.” She looked at Isabela. “You're coming, too, right?”

“Me? Oh ... I think I need to stay here and help refit my ship. She's got a ... loose spar.” Isabela picked at a nonexistent thread on the hem of her tunic.

Hawke frowned. She'd never known the pirate to turn down an adventure before—especially not an adventure involving treasure. “Are you sure? Passing up the opportunity to sneak into an Orlesian noble's estate and steal things?”

“Well ... I have enough things. Can't fit them all on the ship as it is.”

Varric was looking at Isabela speculatively, and when he didn't offer any complaints about the pirate leaving him to trek to Orlais while she stayed home at the Hanged Man Hawke wondered how long it would take to worm out of the dwarf whatever it was that he thought he knew about her reluctance.

“I guess it's the three of us and this Tallis, then,” she said.

“I do not trust that elf,” Fenris growled.

“You don't trust anyone. It's part of your charm,” she told him, grinning.

“I trust you.” His green eyes were serious on hers, and would she ever get over the power in that simplicity? She hoped not.

“And that, too, is part of your charm.”

He smiled briefly, acknowledging the affection behind her words. “If you insist upon doing this, I will naturally be at your side.”

“Good. I'll head over to the Gallows tomorrow to tell Bethany we're going, and then we can leave day after tomorrow after we check on supplies and make sure we have everything we need.”


	2. The Restlessness in Her

Hawke looked around the room, her lips moving as she went over her mental checklist of what should be brought. Occasionally she would dart at a satchel, rifle through its contents, mutter some more, and either take something out or put it back in.

Fenris watched this indulgently for a while; his own needs being comparatively few, he had finished packing rather quickly. At last, when he saw her take the same embroidered pair of fancy gloves out that she had put in ten minutes ago, he said, “Hawke, leave that be.”

“But what if I forget something?”

“And the Orlesians make fun of you for having insufficiently gaudy gloves? Perish the thought.”

She glared at him. “The Orlesians are going to make fun of me anyway.”

“Precisely my point. Your time is better spent in resting before the journey.”

“How can I rest when there's so much to do?”

“I can imagine certain ways in which your mind might be diverted from the tasks at hand.”

She grinned. “I'm never sure how you manage it, but you always make 'get naked and come over here' sound like Blessed Age poetry.”

He raised his eyebrows. “In that case ... get naked and come over here.”

“That works, too,” she said rather breathlessly, shucking her clothes and strowing them about the room in a reckless way he was certain she would complain about in the morning.

Then her naked body was in his arms, a miracle he never tired of experiencing. He laid her back on the bed, kissing his way down from her mouth to her collarbone to her breasts to her abdomen and lower, using lips and teeth and tongue to wring the pleasure from her, drop by drop. And when she had achieved hers, she rolled him over and pinned him down and held him while her tongue explored the lines of lyrium—just enough to arouse, knowing by now when to stop before it became painful—and farther down, her dark hair tickling his thighs as her mouth moved on him.

“Hawke!” He thrust into her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair to hold her there. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the intensity of his release.

Smiling, she moved up his body to rest in his arms, her head on his shoulder.

“Why are we taking on this task?” he asked her.

“Which one, the Duke's ball and stealing this jewel?”

“Do we have any other foolish risks planned? I was only aware of the one.”

“Not that I know of,” Hawke admitted. She sighed. “I don't know. I'm bored?”

“I thought you appreciated no longer having to fight a battle every time you leave the house,” Fenris said.

“I do ... but without that, without being the Champion, I don't really know who I am.” Hawke sat up, looking at him, her eyes troubled. “I mean, I've been fighting all my life, since I was six years old. And now I have no one to fight, and no political ambitions, and even if I wasn't married to an elf the other nobles would irritate me. I can't just sit around with nothing to do.”

Fenris could have done so, quite easily. Between the distraction of Hawke in the bedroom, and the world of books she had opened up to him, and spending time at the Hanged Man playing Wicked Grace ... he would have been perfectly content to hang up the swords and leave that life behind. But he could understand the restlessness in her. During the years she had been in Kirkwall, she had only taken time away from the demands on her for brief periods after her sister had been taken to the Gallows and after her mother had been killed. Otherwise, she had been on the move almost constantly. He would have thought she would have been weary enough to be grateful for the respite, but apparently the inactivity had begun to pall.

“You don't really mind going to Orlais to this party, do you?” she asked him.

“It would most definitely not be my first choice.”

“Well, no. Mine, either, but it did kind of fall into our laps ...”

“And that in and of itself does not give you pause? Things that fall into our laps are all too often traps.”

“You think Tallis is enticing us to go to a party in Orlais ... why?”

Fenris shrugged. “It is hard to say. Someone may want us away from Kirkwall for some reason; someone may want us in Orlais for some reason. It could be the Chantry wanting to question you about your involvement with the destruction of the Chantry and what occurred at the Gallows. It seems unlikely that any Tevinters who wish to study my markings and their power would want us in Orlais, but I would put nothing past them.”

“Do you lie awake at night thinking up these conspiracies?” Hawke got up, annoyed, and put her clothes back on.

“I lie awake at night concerned that you do not consider them enough.”

“That's what I have you and Varric for.” She looked into a satchel and then closed it with a definitive snap. “We're going.”

“Very well. But Hawke—“

“Yes?”

“When we return, I believe it is time for a serious discussion on where we intend our lives to progress from here.”

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes soft and vulnerable, and he could see fear there. Not only didn't she want to think about the future, she was afraid of it, and he could only imagine that it was because of what she had said earlier, that her whole life had been based around her sword, and she didn't know who she was if she put it down.

At last Hawke nodded. “You're probably right. When we get back from Orlais, we can make some decisions.” She sighed. “I've put off deciding my own fate long enough, after all.”

Fenris got up from the bed and went to her, putting his arms around her. “No one is criticizing you. You have had a great many troubles since you arrived in Kirkwall and you have handled them admirably. All I want now is the chance to make you happy ... but I require your assistance to do so, since you are the only one who truly knows what it is that you want from your life.”

She turned in his arms, her eyes meeting his. “You, Fenris.”

He chuckled. “As always, that is a given.”

“Good.”

After some further delay, the packing was finally completed, and they were ready to set out. Tallis had promised to meet them on the road, so it would be the three of them at first. Varric appeared at Hawke's estate at the appointed hour, already grumbling about road dust on his boots.

“Varric.” Hawke grinned at him. “Did you think we'd be walking?”

He recoiled. “Horses, Hawke? Do you have any idea how ridiculous I look on a horse?”

Fenris snorted at the idea, a reaction so extreme for him that it was practically a guffaw, and Varric shot him a venomous glare.

Hawke bit her lip to avoid joining her husband's mirth. “I can imagine how uncomfortable a trip on horseback would be, Varric, and not just for you. No, I've arranged a bit of a surprise for you. After all, this Champion business has to come with some perks.”

At the gates, a carriage was waiting for them, finely appointed and with the seal of the city painted on its sides. Hawke grinned at Varric's shocked look. “Sometimes there are advantages to being a friend of the Viscount.”

“Aveline gave this up to you? I don't believe it.”

“She did give me a long lecture on the proper way to represent the city of Kirkwall in front of Orlesian nobility. Something about ... not killing anyone? My mind rather wandered.”

Fenris handed her a sheaf of papers. “She thought as much; she wrote down a few points in case you required a reminder.”

Hawke took them, leafing through briefly. “This should make for some good reading on the road, although it appears Isabela got to it before Aveline handed it to you.”

Varric groaned. “If you two are going to—“

“We are not,” Fenris assured him.

“Not until we get to Orlais, anyway.” Hawke opened the carriage door, bowing in front of Varric. “Your chariot, my lord Tethras.” 

“As it should be.”

Fenris did not enjoy the ride nearly as much as his two companions did. Being imprisoned in a carriage brought back a number of unpleasant memories of similar journeys with Danarius. Hawke attempted to draw him out several times, but he snapped at her each time, unable to contemplate her touch or her attention without thinking of his former master.

Eventually understanding dawned in her face, and from that point forward she left him alone, huddled in a corner of the expensively cushioned seats, while she and Varric chatted. Fenris was vaguely aware of some plans being made for the upcoming storming of the Orlesian estate, but he had a hard time paying sufficient attention to even follow the plans, much less be of any use in the process.

Would he never be free of these reminders of a life that was long gone? Just when he thought he was ready to move forward and enjoy the life with Evelyn that he had won so miraculously, something of this nature occurred and threw him back to Tevinter again, bringing Danarius so vividly to life it was as though the Magister sat in the carriage next to him. Fenris set his teeth against the bouncing of the conveyance along the roads of northern Orlais, wishing that if he had to have lost so many of his memories, he could send those associated with his life as Danarius's slave into the black void in his mind after them.

The carriage came to a halt unexpectedly, throwing Fenris off the seat. Hawke and Varric, paying more attention to the roads, had been able to brace themselves in time.

Hawke reached a hand down to Fenris. “Are you all right?”

“I will survive.” He took the offered hand, as much to reassure her as to help himself off the floor of the carriage. “My apologies.”

“Danarius?” she asked softly, letting Varric get out of the carriage to investigate the reason behind the sudden stop.

Fenris nodded mutely.

“I wish he was as dead in your mind as he is in the real world.”

“As do I.”

“Hey, Hawke, we have a guest,” Varric said, climbing back in. The elf Tallis was behind him.

She looked around at the opulent interior of the carriage. “You do like to make a statement.”

Hawke shrugged. “It isn't mine. But for the occasion ... I thought I might as well arrive impressively. Being a Fereldan born and a Marcher by heritage and residence, they're going to look down their noses enough at me. I'd rather not arrive covered in dust and with my boots worn out from walking all the way there from Kirkwall.”

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” Tallis assured her. “It's a good idea. Also, more comfortable.” She sank back against the cushions with a sigh.

“So I take it you'll be traveling the rest of the way to Duke Prosper's with us?” Hawke asked.

“Yes. We'll need time to plan, and it's easier if I arrive with you than if we try to meet up once we're there. With all those servants around, you'll be under nearly constant scrutiny.”

Fenris gritted his teeth. As though this journey had not been unpleasant enough thus far. He huddled in the corner, doing his best to ignore Tallis's questioning looks and Hawke's concern. Varric appeared to have decided Fenris simply wasn't there, which was more than fine with Fenris.

He heard snippets of the conversation. Tallis was being extremely cagey when it came to the details of the jewel she intended to purloin. She referred to it as “the Heart of the Many”. Fenris was not particularly knowledgeable when it came to jewels, but he could see that Varric had never heard of this gem ... and that Varric was not saying so in order to let Tallis keep talking. Tallis appeared blissfully unaware that everyone else in the carriage distrusted her. In Fenris's experience, this meant she was either very, very bad at subterfuge ... or very, very good. The only things she appeared to be sincere about were her intense dislike for the Duke and the equal intensity of her desire to keep him from possessing the jewel.

Either way, she deserved further watching. At least that would give him something to do on this interminable carriage ride, something to take his mind off his memories.


	3. No Self-Respecting Wyvern

They arrived at the Duke de Montfort's estate in the mid-morning of the day the hunt was to begin, and the servants who swarmed immediately around the carriage were clearly distressed by their late arrival. Apparently the hunt had begun early that morning, and adding another hunting party at this point was not something the servants looked forward to suggesting to the Duke. Not to mention the strangeness of Hawke's party—two elves and a dwarf, and none of them servants. Fenris could see the Duke’s people trying to determine how he and Varric and Tallis should be treated.

“You will have to go and change, messere,” one of the elves said to him. “The hunt has already begun.”

“I have no need to change,” he said, firmly but courteously. He had been in their shoes once.

The servants looked him up and down with almost as much suspicion and dislike as they aimed at Tallis. Fenris, at least, knew how to walk without attracting attention. Tallis practically demanded it, although, at least to Fenris’s eye, she looked ridiculous next to the taller and infinitely more elegant Hawke.

They were shown to their rooms, and more consternation ensued when Hawke made it clear that Fenris would be sharing her room rather than remaining in the quarters reserved for guest servants. Varric chuckled at the whole mess and disappeared into his own room. He understood the airs and graces of nobility well enough that the servants were already eating out of his hand.

The servants waited for them to change; were, in fact, difficult to dissuade from assisting with the changing themselves. Once they were all ready, the servants escorted them down to the courtyard. Fenris remembered Danarius’s home, and how the slaves had hovered about his old master, ready to leap at his every whim. This reminded him all too much of those days.

As they entered the courtyard where the Duke was holding court, a giant of a man with elaborately braided hair placed himself in front of Hawke. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

If he intended to intimidate her, however, he was looking at the wrong woman. Hawke smiled politely, if coolly, and asked to be presented to the Duke.

Duke Prosper came forward, his hands outstretched, and Fenris immediately remembered the banquet at which they had met the Duke and the oily way in which the Duke had tried to worm his way into Hawke’s good graces—and into her pants. With some difficulty, Fenris remained still and in the background. Their marriage was openly known, but it did not do to be too blatant about it.

“Ah,” said the Duke with satisfaction, “the Champion of Kirkwall! These are honored guests,” he said to his bodyguard, who grunted and backed away a few steps. “Please excuse Cahir,” the Duke said, taking Hawke’s hand. “A polite bodyguard is a contradiction in terms. Or so I am told.” He smiled at her.

“A Chasind? Here?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, you are Fereldan, aren’t you?” The Duke managed to make it sound as though he was surprised. Fenris and Varric exchanged a look, rolling their eyes at each other. “You would be familiar with his people, then.”

“I’ve met a few Chasind,” Hawke said. “None of whom would have hired themselves out to be a noble’s bodyguard. You must be quite persuasive.”

“Oh, I do hope so, my dear Champion,” the Duke said. His face was too close to Hawke’s for Fenris’s liking. Did the man really think she would fall for such cheap flattery? The Duke’s eyes slid over Tallis, Fenris, and Varric. “I see you brought servants, already armed and armored. Wonderful!”

Hawke held the Duke’s gaze steadily with her own. “My husband Fenris, Your Grace. Varric Tethras you have no doubt heard of, and this is Tallis, my … companion.” She left the word there. To Fenris’s ears, it sounded as though Tallis was Hawke’s lover, and he wondered if she had meant to give that impression or if she simply hadn’t thought the introduction through.

“How … nice,” the Duke said with a faint hint of a sneer. He hooked an arm through Hawke’s and drew her away from the rest of them. “I must say,” he murmured to her, “your presence is something of a surprise. When we spoke at your banquet, you seemed … uninterested when I mentioned our hunt.”

Hawke shrugged, removing her arm from the Duke’s. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Ah, so delightfully Fereldan, so blunt and direct,” the Duke cried, almost managing to sound as though he meant it. “So you are! And we are the richer for your presence. But the hunt has already begun; I shouldn’t keep you any longer or you will have no chance at all.” He smiled thinly, his expression indicating that he thought she already had no chance. 

Hawke said, “The other hunters will need the head start.” She returned the Duke’s false smile with a rather grim one of her own.

“I do admire your confidence, my dear. Oh, and Champion?” the Duke called after them as they turned toward the gates and the hunting area beyond. “Beware the wyverns’ poison. It is the most valuable thing about them, but also the most deadly.”

“Most valuable?” Hawke asked Varric.

He nodded. “It makes a pretty potent drink—aquae lucidius. Never had any myself, but those who remember having drunk it speak of it with fondness.”

Hawke chuckled. “Well, let’s keep that in mind if they spit on us.”

“If the wyverns spit on you, you’re mostly dead,” Tallis put in. “That’s why aquae lucidius is so expensive.”

“Because someone must perish in its distillation?” Fenris asked.

Tallis frowned at him. “Aren’t there easier ways to have said that?”

Varric laughed. “So I’m told, it’s part of his charm.”

Hawke met Fenris’s eye above the dwarf’s head and smiled at him. He didn’t think he would ever become accustomed to the way she made him feel—as if he belonged wherever she was. He felt an overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and melt with her into the greenery and allow all these spoiled nobles, and Tallis, as well, to bait their giant lizards on their own while he showed her exactly what she meant to him.

Her eyes crinkled in a way that said she knew perfectly well what he was thinking and promised fulfillment later. Later wouldn’t be quite as good, in a noble’s guest room with spies everywhere, no doubt, but he would be with her and that was what mattered.

They moved through the gates and out into the hunting grounds. 

“We’ll want to get as far away from the main house as possible,” Tallis said. 

“Everyone will have that same idea,” Hawke said coolly. “Note how none of the hunters are anywhere in sight.”

“Where do you suggest, then?” Tallis asked.

“Wyverns have favorite hunting spots. I’m sure the Duke knows some of the ones around here,” Varric suggested. He winked at Hawke. “You could go try to charm them out of him.”

Snorting, Hawke said, “I’m sure his Chasind bodyguard is charm-proof. No, we’ll just have to work this out ourselves.” She sighed. “Too bad Isabela wouldn’t come along; she’s a much better tracker than any of us. I wonder what was so important it was worth staying in Kirkwall for.”

“Yes, and missing the chance to be called a manservant by a sneering Orlesian,” Fenris said. “I wonder, as well.”

Hawke rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, missing the glance that flicked between Fenris and Varric. The smart money was on Isabela having stayed in Kirkwall to keep an eye—and some other body parts—on Bethany, but neither of them wanted to bring that topic up with Hawke again. Not that she objected to Isabela per se, but Bethany was still her little sister, and Bethany’s previous choices of lovers had been poorly thought out. Isabela could take care of herself; as could Bethany, from everything Fenris had seen, but Hawke worried about both of them.

Tallis, uninterested in Isabela’s whereabouts, was hunkered down studying the ground. “I’ve had some experience tracking. Let me see what I can find.”

“Knock yourself out,” Hawke said. She leaned back against a rock, looking off into the distance. 

Fenris leaned next to her, his shoulder brushing hers, and Varric busied himself with Bianca, polishing some part of the complicated device that, to Fenris’s eye, was already as highly polished as it could get. 

Meanwhile, Tallis crawled around on her hands and knees looking busy. Privately, Fenris had his suspicions as to what she was accomplishing. She had done well with her daggers against the Crows, that much he would grant her, but as to any further competence, he was not yet convinced, or anything close to it. He didn’t believe Hawke was, either; she was making a show of paying no attention to Tallis, but Fenris could tell she was watching the female elf as closely as he was.

“I think I’ve found wyvern blood,” Tallis announced at last.

“How do you tell the difference between blood from a giant lizard and blood from a bunny rabbit?” Varric asked skeptically.

Fenris fought back the urge to smile; it didn’t do to encourage Varric, and he didn’t want to openly appear to be mocking Tallis. Varric could get away with such impudence, but Fenris knew from experience that his own delivery made such commentary into an insult.

Tallis looked up at him blankly for a moment. “The smell,” she said at last, brightly, as if by her very cheeriness she could convince them of her sincerity.

“You know how wyvern blood smells?” Hawke asked.

“Perhaps. He who would follow in the footsteps of the hunted should also know its mind.”

They all looked at Tallis quizzically, but she was looking down at the patch of bloodied grass.

Hawke leaned over the elf’s shoulder. “So if this is wyvern blood, do you think someone else has already found it?”

“What, the wyvern? Oh, surely not.” Tallis stood up, brushing her hands on the seat of her leathers. “We’d have heard the screams. I’ve read about wyverns—apparently they have a very distinctive scream that can be heard for miles. Besides,” she added, “if the hunt ends when someone kills a wyvern, we’d have heard horns, too.”

“Good point.” Hawke looked around. “So if we’re sure this is wyvern blood, and we think we have reason to be sure no other hunter spilled this wyvern blood, does that mean they fight each other?”

“I bet it does,” Tallis said, nodding. 

“Then if we could keep some of this blood fresh somehow and spread it on the ground, maybe we could draw a wyvern to it?”

Varric frowned. “Why not just stay here? Seems like a lot less work.”

Looking around, Hawke tilted her chin toward another group of hunters not far off. “Too much competition. I suspect the wyverns wouldn’t come out in the midst of such a crowd, anyway. The four of us together move more quietly than any one of them.”

Silently, they watched the hunters, all Orlesian to judge from the heavy, overly ornamented armor and the accents of the loud squabbling voices.

“Are we actually supposed to catch these things, or just look fashionable doing it?” Varric asked. “I never can tell with Orlesians.”

The Orlesian party were attended by numerous elves carrying trays of drinks and food, and others carrying the weaponry. The elves looked more formidable than the hunters themselves—or would have, if they hadn’t all appeared to be so frightened of their masters.

“Is it wrong that I would like to see the wyverns triumph?” Fenris murmured. Hawke flashed him a smile.

They watched the Orlesians, who were studiously ignoring them, until they were out of sight.

“Now where?” Tallis asked.

“That way.” Hawke pointed in the opposite direction. “No self-respecting wyvern would have those imbeciles for lunch.”


	4. Come and Get It

It wasn’t too far down the path from the Orlesian party that they discovered the next positive sign of wyverns: a huge, steaming pile of scat.

“I guess we can see what the wyvern thinks of the hunt. There’s real poetry in creating something that size,” Varric said.

“You would know,” Fenris remarked with a sardonic curl of his lip in the dwarf’s direction. “That appears to bear a strong resemblance to your latest book.”

Varric chuckled. “Swords & Shields? You’re not wrong; but it sells, which is, after all, the point.”

“I thought the point was to irritate the people you call ‘friends’ by caricaturing them in your abominable literature.”

“Caricaturing?!” Varric squawked in outrage. “I’ll have you know—“

“Boys,” Hawke said quietly, her eyes on something in the bushes. As they followed her gaze, they could all see the gleam of a large eye watching them, and then hear the rustle of the bushes as the creature moved hastily off with a contemptuous flip of the tail.

“You see?” Fenris turned to Varric. “The wyvern doesn’t enjoy your writing, either.”

“And you’re proud that your literary opinions are the same as those of a mindless lizard?”

“Do they do much of this kind of thing?” Tallis asked Hawke, who answered her with an eloquent roll of the eyes. “I see. Can we gag them?”

Hawke smiled briefly at the idea of someone trying to gag either of her two favorite men. “You’re welcome to try,” she suggested to Tallis, “but I think we’ll have more luck finding this wyvern.” She pushed past the elf, following the creature that had been in the bushes. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought the wyvern was sizing her up, judging whether she was a worthy foe. Well, she was; certainly if Hawke were a wyvern, she’d rather fight herself than any of these Orlesian fops. 

Tallis took the lead, and Varric was hanging back, stopping to study the bottom of his boots, frowning.

“We’ll never get him out of Kirkwall again,” Hawke said to Fenris, who chuckled. 

“I would be in favor of remaining at home, as well.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

He raised his eyebrows at that patent falsehood. “That may be the most ridiculous statement you have ever made.”

“Ooh, really?” She smiled at him. “I’ll have to keep trying, see if I can top it.”

Fenris returned the smile, but his eyes were on the foliage around them. “This wyvern could leap out at us at any moment.”

“You don’t seem to place a lot of faith in Tallis’s scouting abilities.”

He didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. He missed Isabela, who was not always serious, but always did her job well. You could count on her when she said she was going to do something. This Tallis, on the other hand … “You are too willing to involve yourself in the affairs of others, Hawke,” he said. 

“That was out of the blue.”

“I fear that one of these days it will lead you into trouble you cannot extricate yourself from.”

“That’s what I have you for.” She sighed. “Besides, what else would you have me do?”

“Guard what you have,” he said. “Keep your head low.”

Hawke snorted. “Sounds like a good way to trip over something in the way you didn’t see coming.” She glanced at him with some amusement. “How well has that worked for you, Fenris?”

He smiled. “The last thing I failed to see coming was you, Hawke.”

“You poor thing.”

“Yes, such a shame.” His eyes were warm on hers, and Evelyn was overwhelmed, as she so often was, by how much she loved this man.

“If this kind of sickening display doesn’t attract an angry wyvern, nothing will,” Varric remarked.

“At the very least, find yourself a clearing,” Tallis muttered. Her gaze roamed around the forest, searching through the trees for any sign of a wyvern.

Hawke and Fenris weren’t listening; they were in each other’s arms, deaf to what surrounded them.

Varric grumbled, turning away and exploring a little further into the trees. “Hey, over here!” he shouted.

Tallis followed him, and, reluctantly, so did Fenris and Hawke. Varric was standing over a skeleton, scattered in pieces across a small open space amongst the trees. The bones, which were pitted and marked as if they had been chewed, were covered in tattered remnants of cloth.

“This was no warrior,” Fenris growled. “This was a servant.”

“Sent here to bait the wyvern, perhaps?” Tallis asked.

“Part of a previous hunt, I imagine.” Hawke nudged one of the bones with her toe. “Poor sod.”

“Are we certain it is the wyvern we should be hunting?” Fenris asked. “Perhaps it is Duke Prosper who ought to be tracked down and eliminated.”

“Whoa, there, Broody. You don’t want to say that out loud—the trees may have ears.”

“Varric’s right; we need to be careful what we say.” Hawke grasped Fenris’s hand briefly to tell him she agreed with him. “But we also need to hurry up and find this wyvern; I would like to be done with this.”

Tallis nodded vigorously. “Yes; let’s take down the wyvern and get on to finding the gem.”

“Hawke, I bet if you just stand still somewhere, it’ll come out and find you,” Varric suggested. “Everything else we run into seems to want you to kill it; why not a giant poisonous lizard?”

Fenris gave her his traditional half-smile. “He does have a point.”

“Fine.” Hawke stepped forward, in front of the scattered bones, and held up her sword. “Here, wyvern, wyvern. Come and get it!”

There was a growl from the bushes and suddenly it was in the middle of them, a sweep of its tail whistling just over Varric’s head.

“There are advantages to being short,” the dwarf muttered, crouching even lower. Bianca was in his hands almost immediately, and the wyvern shrieked in outrage, Varric’s vantage point allowing Bianca’s first barb to land in an extremely vulnerable, and apparently painful, place. The wyvern whirled, but Varric had already leaped to a new position.

Meanwhile, Fenris and Hawke had drawn their swords. Tallis had disappeared in a cloud of smoke, reappearing on the other side of the wyvern and attacking it with her daggers. Its skin was tough, so she did little more than score the surface.

“It spits poison, remember,” she shouted. “Keep away from its mouth.” As it turned its head toward her, she rolled out of the way.

Hawke was more interested in staying away from the sharp teeth, but she had no desire to be poisoned, either. Her sword and Fenris’s, with greater force behind the blows, penetrated the skin further than Tallis’s daggers had, but not enough to do serious damage with any one hit. They would have to wear it down—before it wore them down, she thought. The wyvern was turning, the tail whipping back and forth as the mouth spat a bright orange substance. A few drops splattered on Fenris’s foot and he swore violently.

How much poison was deadly? How fast did it work? Hawke thought in a panic, wishing she had thought to take this seriously and read up on wyverns before they came here. What a cocky idiot she was.

“It’ll take more than that,” Varric shouted, and she looked at him over the wyvern’s back, meeting that confident smile of his. He had apparently done his homework. What would she ever do without him?

Fortunately she didn’t have to find out; not in the middle of this battle, anyway. Varric leaped to the side, avoiding the wyvern’s rush, and sank one of Bianca’s barbs into the side of the wyvern’s snout. Hawke rushed it from behind, managing a decent blow on its back, and Fenris leaped into the air on the other side, bringing the point of his sword straight down through the wyvern’s spine. 

Dragging its back legs, the wyvern feebly spit a stream of poison across the grass before Hawke, putting all her weight behind the thrust, stabbed it through the neck.

The wyvern had barely taken its last breath when an overdressed Orlesian stepped out of the brush, followed by his retinue. They were all clapping slowly and insolently. “So the Fereldan turnip is useful for something after all,” the leader said. “Now, you can run along with your servants and leave me to claim my prize. The wyvern is mine.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, glancing around at her people. “He can’t be serious.”

“He looks serious,” Varric said.

“And ridiculous,” Fenris added.

Turning to the Orlesian, Hawke said, “If you wanted it, you should have killed him.”

“I paid good coin to be the one who wins this contest! If you didn’t know the way things work, that is hardly my problem.”

“Ah.” Hawke gave him a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t realize the Duke was offering charity to his more useless guests. My mistake.”

The Orlesian looked infuriated, but also pleased, as though he was taking Hawke’s sarcasm at face value and expected her to disappear and leave him with his prize.

“Unfortunately, I already gave my donations to the useless and incompetent in Kirkwall, so I’ll be keeping this kill for myself. Unless,” she said, “you wish to come and take it from me?” She drew her sword, planting one foot on the body of the dead wyvern. 

“You backwater mongrel! Step away from my wyvern at once!” The Orlesian stamped his foot. 

Hawke did her best to smother her smile. 

Beside her, Tallis asked, “You do realize this woman has nasty little thugs like you for breakfast?”

It was evident from the careful distance the Orlesian was keeping between himself and his retinue and Hawke and her team that he did. 

Hawke shrugged. “Only when we’re out of pancakes.”

“I don’t see any pancakes around here.” Tallis crossed her arms, looking pointedly at the Orlesian.

“You would let your knife-ear speak to me like that, you— you—“

“Now, now, Arlange.” It was the cultured voice of Duke Prosper, who came from another portion of the woods with his Chasind bodyguard behind him. “Is that any way to speak to such a charming lady?”

“More Orlesians,” Fenris muttered. “What are they all doing in the woods?”

“Broody, you really don’t want to know,” Varric told him.

“What is going on here?” Duke Prosper asked, stopping before the Orlesian.

“Prosper! This blasted she-bitch tried to steal my rightful kill!”

Hawke didn’t bother clearing up that error. It was fairly obvious from the blood- and wyvern-poison-spattered armor she and her team wore and the pristine cleanliness of the Orlesian and his party who had done the actual killing. What Duke Prosper chose to do about it was up to him.

“’Blasted she-bitch’? Is that any way to speak of the Champion of Kirkwall?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hawke smiled at the Orlesian.

“This is your fault, Prosper, for inviting a stinking turnip in the first place! Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

“For so many, many reasons, I’m sure.” Prosper smiled unpleasantly. He turned to Hawke with a courtly bow. “My apologies. Arlange has always been a cheat. What would you have me do with him?”

“Hawke, you can’t possibly be considering—“ Tallis cut her words off, her large blue eyes on Hawke’s face.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just let him go. He’s not worth your time.”

She was probably right, not that Hawke would have seriously considered requesting the man’s death anyway. That was an Orlesian thing to do, and she was a proud Fereldan turnip.

Duke Prosper laughed. “My word! Such mercy.”

“He’s done nothing to me but run his mouth,” Hawke said. “If I had everyone killed who did that, Kirkwall would be a ghost town.” 

“You hear that, Arlange? I think it would behoove you to leave while you still can.” Duke Prosper didn’t even glance in the Orlesian’s direction.

Still muttering under his breath, the Orlesian and his retinue left. Hawke hoped she wouldn’t have to run into him later at the party; he was likely to ruin the mood. And get in the way of whatever Tallis had planned. 

As soon as he was gone, Prosper bowed before Hawke. “Congratulations on killing your first wyvern! It looks like a fine one, indeed. Shall we return to the Chateau and freshen up for the celebration?” He held an arm out for Hawke.

Trying not to show her reluctance, she took it. “Oh, is wyvern blood not the required decoration for this event? And here I’ve gone and gotten all dressed up in it. How foolish of me.”

Prosper laughed, a more genuine laugh than she had heard from him yet. “My dear, you could set a trend! But I confess, I look forward to seeing what you look like in a less … metallic ensemble.” He raked his gaze up and down her body.

Behind her, she could practically hear Fenris bristle, and she longed to turn around and reassure him, but now wasn’t the time. Later, in the privacy of the room they’d been assigned, she would prove to him again that only one man’s gaze, one man’s touch, set any fires within her. She looked forward to it already.


	5. Something to Prove

In the long run, it mattered very little whether Hawke had killed the wyvern or someone else had, but naturally it had been important to her to do so. She appeared almost to feel as if she had something to prove to this collection of nobles, not one of whom had half her grace or intelligence, and that bothered Fenris.

An outcast for many reasons, he remained on the edge of the crowd during the interminable banquet that followed the hunt, listening to the murmurs around him. Tallis had cautioned them not to attempt to gather information about this gem she claimed to be in search of, which seemed very odd to Fenris. If it was such an important gem, Prosper would boast about it, not keep it secret.

He said as much to Hawke when she came by his corner, a champagne glass in her hand. Her eyes were bright, her color high. 

“You are not bothered by the fact that this jewel doesn’t seem to exist?” He glanced at her, then found Tallis in the crowd, moving amongst them unnoticed. Most elves were servants to the very rich, and taking notice of one shameful.

Hawke shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone lied to me about what they were looking for .”

“Isabela was a different case.”

“You only say that because she’s your friend. Tallis could be your friend someday.”

Fenris snorted. “Unlikely. Once she has what she wants, we will never see her again. I guarantee it.”

“Does it matter?”

“Only if getting her what she wants puts you in danger. Hawke, why are we doing this?”

“Why not?” She looked at him with those too-bright eyes, and he caught her hand and took the champagne glass out of it.

“Are you afraid to stop fighting, Evelyn?”

“I—“ For a moment, he thought she was going to talk to him, tell him what she was thinking, but then she pulled away. “Of course not! This seemed like it might be fun.” She stroked his cheek. “I know this part isn’t such fun for you, but I’ll make it up to you later.” Her hand moved down over his shoulder and chest. “I should mingle.”

“You do that,” he said, resigned. Once they got out of this Orlesian nightmare, they would have a real talk, as he had promised her before they left Kirkwall.

“Tallis says after the party, when everyone’s in a drunken sleep or otherwise … distracted, is the right time to go after the gem.”

“Tallis would know.”

Hawke looked at him, her blue eyes faintly sorrowful. “I’m sorry I made you come. I didn’t realize …” She looked around them. “I didn’t think how like your past this would be. I wouldn’t have come if I’d realized what it would be like for you.”

“I know you wouldn’t have.” Disregarding the partygoers around them, he drew her close, appreciating her honesty and her openness. 

Varric drifted out of the crowd in their direction. “You two are attracting attention.”

Reluctantly, Hawke drew herself out of Fenris’s arms. “I suppose I really should mingle.” She frowned at the assemblage. “How much longer do you expect this to go, Varric?”

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. People are starting to drift away, so, I don’t know, maybe another hour or so before we can ‘retire’?”

“I only wish we were,” Fenris muttered.

“Look on the bright side, Broody. We get this done tonight, we’re back on our way to Kirkwall again tomorrow.”

“When have things ever gone that smoothly?” Fenris watched Tallis move through the crowd. She seemed to be hovering as near to Duke Prosper as she could without drawing attention to herself. “Hawke, much as it pains me to suggest it, perhaps you could go have a discussion with Duke Prosper and see if you can determine more thoroughly just what it is we are here for.”

She glanced at him, startled. “You really do want to get out of here. Fine, I’ll go chat up the Duke.” 

Hawke glided away across the room, putting on her best noble smile for the Duke. Behind her, Fenris watched with a bitter taste in his mouth, hating to have to use her beauty as leverage.

“She’ll be all right, you know,” Varric said.

“Will she? Will she ever be able to put her sword down and just … live?”

“I don’t think she knows how, and it scares the shit out of her. I can’t blame her,” Varric said, patting Bianca. “But you have her, and I have my writing, and Rivaini has Sunshine and the sea …”

“She has me.”

“I know. And so does she. But think about it, Broody. The two of you met fighting, you got together fighting, you stayed apart fighting, you even got married fighting. You want her to stop fighting? You have to show her what else there is in life other than that.”

Fenris looked down at the dwarf, amazed as he so often was by Varric’s total understanding of people and his complete inability to use that understanding to improve his own life. Or unwillingness, which amounted to the same thing in the long run.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
“Ah, our might hunter!” Duke Prosper called as Hawke approached him. “Champion, Champion, you have had quite a day.” The looseness of his speech indicated he had had a fair amount to drink.

“It was exciting, I’ll give it that.”

“Exciting, yes! To hunt the wyvern on its own ground is to tempt fate … but the prize!” Somewhere deep in the castle behind him, a great roar sounded.

“What was that?” Hawke asked, her hand immediately, and fruitlessly, going for the sword she had left in her room.

“Leopold. My pet wyvern. A most magnificent beast. Would you like to meet him, Serah Hawke? Perhaps to … touch him?”

“He sounds temperamental,” Hawke said coolly. “Does he fetch? Or play dead?”

There was a faint smile on the Duke’s face, an acknowledgement of her adroitness. “Alas, he seems to think it is our duty to amuse him. Is that not always the way with pets?”

“Do you keep anything special around to amuse him with?” Hawke asked, but the conversation was disrupted as an elven servant stumbled over her foot, stomping on it hard, and spilling red wine all over her tunic.

As the servant backed away, apologizing, Hawke saw that it was Tallis, and her suspicions were raised all over again by the clear implication that the elf didn’t want her to know whatever Duke Prosper might know about this gem. They would have to be very cautious.

“Ah, Hawke, do you require assistance with your wet clothes?” Duke Prosper asked.

“My husband is just over there,” she said to him, pointing to Fenris and watching red spots of anger rise to the Duke’s cheeks at her bluntness. “I’m sure he can give me any assistance I might desire.”

“By all means, I will leave you to your … amusements,” the Duke said, his lip curling in disgust.

Hawke nodded at him, and moved off to tell Fenris it was time to head back to their room. Maybe they could get in some more entertaining activities before Tallis came to get them for the night’s more nefarious plans. That should put him in a better mood.


	6. Behind Bars

Tallis nearly caught them in a very awkward position, but Fenris’s sharp ears heard her coming, and he redoubled his efforts so that Hawke was gasping her pleasure just as Tallis knocked on the door.

“We’re coming,” Hawke called, grinning wickedly at him, and proceeded to make sure he did so.

Hastily they put their clothes back together and retrieved their swords, opening the door to let Tallis in. 

“I wanted to make sure the household settled before we got started.” She looked at Fenris, who was still breathing heavily from the aftermath. “Are you sure you want to come with us? It might be better to leave someone behind as a lookout.”

“You must be mad,” he told her bluntly. There was not a chance in the Void that he was going to let his Hawke go off with this woman alone in the depths of night in some Orlesian noble’s home. 

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

They made their way through the silent halls, Tallis in the lead and Varric bringing up the rear. 

A guard stepped out of a room on the main floor, his mouth open in surprise as he saw Tallis and Hawke in front of him. Fenris clung to the shadows, as did Varric behind him.

Tallis took a step toward the guard, saying softly, “There’s no need for you to die today, friend. Just move on; you never saw us.”

He hesitated, then lifted a hand to his mouth and shouted “Thieves!”

But the word had barely risen to his lips before Tallis’s dagger buried itself in his neck. As he collapsed to the floor, she went to him and removed her knife, wiping the blood off on the guard’s jacket. “We’ll need to hide him somewhere.”

“Right.” Hawke caught him by the shoulders and dragged him back into the room he had come out of, shoving the body under a table covered by a floor-length cloth.

“He could have walked away,” Tallis said sadly from the doorway.

“They so rarely do,” Hawke said. Enough men had thrown themselves on her blade she had stopped questioning why they bothered.

“I didn’t want to kill him. There are other paths; they do not all need to lead to the same destination.’

“Actually, they do,” Hawke pointed out. “We’re all going to die eventually. Some people choose sooner rather than later.”

“Is that why you do what you do?” Tallis asked. “Because you choose sooner?”

Hawke opened her mouth to give a glib answer, but over Tallis’s shoulder she saw the gleam of Fenris’s markings, and she closed it again. Was that why she couldn’t put the sword down, because she thought it was all supposed to end in death? It had for her parents, for her brother, for Anders and Sebastian, and for so many others in her life … but it didn’t have to be that way for her. She could grow old at Fenris’s side. 

Tallis got up. “Enough talk. We need to hurry if we’re not going to run into more guards.”

The halls of Chateau Haine were reasonably quiet. Possibly too quiet? Something didn’t feel right to Hawke. Surely an Orlesian nobleman didn’t need guards patrolling everywhere on the night of a banquet … but if he had valuable items hidden somewhere in his chateau, perhaps he ought to have guards. 

For that matter, she thought suddenly, her own presence was rather suspicious—showing up late, after having had no particular interest in this event previously? Maybe there ought to be guards on her. Maybe there were and they were just very good at what they did.

She looked around behind her, catching Varric’s eye, and was reassured. Varric would know if anyone was following her. It was what he did. As would Fenris. She was worrying for nothing, she told herself.

They followed Tallis deeper into the Chateau, pausing occasionally to open a drawer or a box or a chest; Isabela might not have been with them, but Varric was a magpie, and Evelyn had spent too long struggling to make ends meet to let an opportunity to loot an Orlesian duke’s mansion go by. In one drawer, she found a piece of an amulet, covered in strange markings. Studying it, she recognized it as part of the symbol of the Fog Warriors of Seheron. After Fenris’s story about what he owed the Fog Warriors who had looked after him, she had read up on them in the Chantry library … when Kirkwall still had a Chantry. Swiftly she pocketed the piece of the amulet, promising herself to keep an eye open for more pieces. Maybe she could give back to Fenris that particular piece of his past.

In the depths of the building, Tallis stopped in the shadow of a corner. “The vault is over there.”

“Great. Let’s get this jewel and go.”

Tallis shook her head. “Something seems … off.”

Behind Hawke, Fenris and Varric exchanged eye rolls. As far as Fenris was concerned, it was Tallis who seemed off.

Hawke glanced back at them, indicating with a nod of her head that they should hang back. Fenris didn’t want to, but Varric’s hand on his arm stopped him. They had gotten this far by listening to Hawke. If she wanted them back, it meant that she suspected a trap.

She followed Tallis cautiously across the hall to the vault. It was the work of a suspiciously brief moment to get the vault open, and then Hawke and Tallis walked in—and iron bars slammed shut all around them.

Tallis looked at Hawke guiltily. “I swear, I didn’t know! There must be some sort of switch.”

“I suppose there must be.” Hawke restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but it wasn’t easy. She was glad she had signaled Fenris and Varric to stay back, so they wouldn’t be caught in whatever trap Tallis was leading her into. Now what remained to be seen was whether Tallis and the Duke were working together, or if Tallis was just incompetent. Hawke gave them about even odds.

She’d hardly finished the thought when the Duke and some of his men stepped into the room. “Look at the little rabbits who took a nibble at my trap,” he said.

Tallis drew her daggers. “It’s not over yet. We can fight them.”

The Duke laughed. “It is over. I knew who you were the moment you arrived, assassin.”

“Assassin?” Hawke glared at Tallis. “I knew you weren’t telling me everything.”

“And yet you came anyway. How very … Fereldan of you,” the Duke sneered.

“Wait, you … did?” Tallis frowned at Hawke.

“You didn’t really think you were convincing, did you?”

“Well, yes. Yes, I did.”

Hawke sighed, shaking her head, and the Duke laughed again, more heartily this time.

“Have you met my friends?” Hawke asked. “They’re all crazy, and most of them are either killers or accomplished liars—or both. You were out of your league from the beginning.”

“Clever girl,” the Duke said. “Did you also know that your elven friend is Qunari?”

Hawke’s eyebrows flew up. “No. Can’t say I picked up on that, although it does explain some of those tortured aphorisms she’s been using.”

Tallis turned to the Duke. “Look, I came to stop the Heart from doing something we’ll all regret. She didn’t. Leave her out of this.”

Hawke wasn’t about to argue with that point of view, but the Duke didn’t seem convinced.

“And waste all the effort I spent luring you here before the Heart’s arrival?” the Duke asked. “I think not.”

The elf and the Duke glared at one another, spitting something at one another in Qunari, and then the Duke waved his hand, and his men stepped forward. “Take them away,” he said. “And find Hawke’s companions, the elf and the dwarf. I want them all safely locked away before the Heart arrives.”

The soldiers took Hawke and Tallis roughly by the arms, dragging them from the room. Hawke was relieved of her sword, and Tallis of her daggers, although Hawke assumed that she must have more hidden on her person; Isabela certainly would have.

She wasn’t in the least concerned about the threat to find Fenris and Varric. Both men knew how to handle themselves, and they had fought together for the best part of a decade; they could rely on one another. In another situation, Hawke might have tried to escape her captors, but she couldn’t trust Tallis, especially not after the revelation that the elf was Qunari. She had little choice but to allow herself to be dragged to a cell somewhere in the labyrinth that was the Duke’s mansion.

Left alone, in a cell together, which Hawke thought smacked of hubris on the Duke’s part, Hawke paced back and forth, wondering how long it would take Fenris and Varric to come and get them out.

Tallis sat in a corner and watched her for a long while before speaking up. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“How perceptive of you.”

“The Duke didn’t have us killed. That’s something, at any rate.”

“Are you in the habit of letting people have you killed? I like to avoid that kind of thing, personally.” Hawke folded her arms across her chest. “And that’s not much of an apology.”

“Just trying to cheer you up, really.”

“I find the truth often works well for that.”

Tallis got to her feet. “I am sorry. Really, I am. This wasn’t at all the way I had planned for this to go.”

“And your plan was?”

“I was hoping to find information on a meeting the Duke has set up with Salit; he’s a member of the Ben-Hassrath. They’re the Qunari secret police … sort of. It’s hard to explain. They … they keep the spirit of the Qun, protect it, from outside and from within. Salit has turned against the Qun, I don’t know why; he’s planning to sell secrets to the Orlesians. I came to stop him."

“And you thought he’d be in the vault?”

“Well … no. But I thought if I could get to the vault, I’d be able to find clues to their meeting place.” Tallis turned away, her head hanging dejectedly. “I didn’t think it through.”

“No kidding.”

Tallis nodded. “This is a bit of a personal mission for me; Salit was my bessrathari, my tutor. He recruited me into the Ben-Hassrath.”

“So you’re not only Qunari, you’re Qunari secret police?”

“You could say that, yes. At least, I was. Whether I ever am again remains to be seen.”

“And this Salit, he’s going to sell Qunari secrets?”

“Not every Qunari is a soldier!” Tallis said, turning back to Hawke, her pale eyes blazing. “There are farmers, artisans, craftsmen … children. People who have never even thought about hurting anyone.”

“We had all those in Kirkwall, too. I didn’t notice your people being all that squeamish then,” Hawke said.

“I’m sorry. I … The situation in Kirkwall was regrettable.”

“To say the least.”

“Hawke, I asked you to come here because I needed your help. I still do.”

“Yes, to get out of here.”

“And after.” Tallis came closer. “Please. Salit is going to hurt a lot of people. I need to stop him.”

Hawke stepped away. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this right now. Talk to me again once we get out of here.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“What, no plan?” Hawke snapped.

“Getting locked up wasn’t exactly my idea.”

“Fortunately, some of us know how to plan for unlikely contingencies.” Hawke moved toward the door of the cell, hearing the faint tap and scratch of Varric’s lockpicks. “You almost done out there?”

“It’d be a lot easier if you’d both stop talking so I could hear the tumblers,” Varric groused. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Of course you are. You haven’t aged a day since I met you.”

He chuckled, and the lock gave, the door swinging open.

“Took you long enough,” Hawke said, smiling at Varric and then moving into Fenris’s open arms. He held her close. “You weren’t worried, were you?” she asked him.

“Not in the least,” he lied. “Not in the least.”


	7. Back to Work

Hawke looked around at the long dark hall of the dungeon, and then at Tallis. “So what now?”

“Wait, are you still going to help me?”

“Mostly, I want to get out of here. If that’s the way you’re going, then we’ll go together.”

Tallis looked sad. “I still don’t know where Salit is going to meet the Duke.”

“Any chance you had of finding that out is long gone,” Varric told her. “The Duke’s gone; took his Chasind bodyguard and went out ‘hunting’, or so he said.”

Hawke frowned. “What time is it?”

“A little after sunrise.”

She yawned, the weariness of a sleepless night suddenly catching up with her. “I thought it was earlier than that. So much for going back to bed.”

Fenris chuckled. “I rather we will do any more sleeping as guests of the Duke’s, not after last night.”

“And thank the Maker for that,” Varric grumbled. “Those beds are not made for Bianca.”

Fenris and Hawke glanced at each other and decided not to ask.

“Fascinating as all these private jokes are,” Tallis said, as sharply as Hawke had ever heard her speak, “the question is still hanging in front of us. Are you going to help me?”

“I thought you were leading the way out.”

Tallis looked at Hawke for a long time, but Hawke held her gaze firmly until the elf looked away. “Fine. Don’t think about all the innocent people who may be hurt.”

“Don’t give me that!” Hawke said angrily. “I’ve thought about innocent people for years. I’ve worn out three blades in the service of the innocent people of Kirkwall. I gave safe harbor to an abomination because he could heal them; I lost my mother and my sister in the process. I’ve been injured more times, and in more places, than I can count. So just because this one time I don’t feel like rewarding being lied to and tricked into walking into a situation blind, don’t get the idea that it’s somehow because you’re noble and I’m not, and put the blame on your own shoulders where it belongs.” She let the words hang ringing in the air between them, and Tallis looked away, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“You’re probably right.”

Hawke sighed. Try as she might, she couldn’t just leave it like that. “I’m not saying no. Just … not yes, either. Not for sure until I’ve had some time to think.”

She had to give Tallis credit; she didn’t leap at the maybe. “Fair enough. Let’s go this way, then.” Tallis led them to a crack in the wall, narrow enough that Varric eyed it suspiciously.

“Bianca’s not sure she’ll fit.”

“Of course she will. There’s always room for Bianca,” Hawke assured him, although she was by no means as certain as she sounded. She glanced doubtfully at Tallis, who nodded.

“This was built in the Fourth Blight, according to my sources, as a retreat and a refuge from the darkspawn. I think we’ll all fit.”

“Surely the Duke is more than familiar with this exit … and where it leads,” Fenris said, his green eyes shadowed with suspicion as they rested on Tallis.

“Look, you have no reason to trust me. I understand that. But I have no reason to be leading you into an ambush by the Duke, either. If you won’t help me find Salit before he can betray our people, then you’re no use to me.”

It sounded good enough, and Hawke nodded at Tallis to acknowledge the plausibility of the words, but her suspicions weren’t allayed—not yet. Having the Duke tied up with Hawke and her team would provide a nice distraction for Tallis to find this Salit. But on the other hand, they needed to get out of the Duke’s house without attracting further attention, and this back way of Tallis’s seemed like a good way to accomplish that. “You go first,” she said to Tallis, who nodded, squeezing herself through the crack.

Varric was next, and then, under protest, Fenris, before Hawke followed them all. They found themselves in a dark, echoing cavern. Fenris activated his markings and Tallis lit a torch, and they could see a long, narrow passage leading … away from the house, which was all Hawke could hope for at this point. If Tallis was leading them into an ambush, it was no more than they could have expected had they gone through the mansion to get out.

They made their way through the cavern, only to stop short in front of a gate that had been clearly been fit into place sometime far later than the Fourth Blight. It opened easily, and Hawke and Fenris and Varric exchanged glances.

“So, not really an ambush, then. More of a trap.”

“As we might have guessed,” Fenris said, looking darkly at Tallis.

“I didn’t know this was here!” she protested.

“You didn’t scout this tunnel?” Hawke asked, frowning. “Then how did you know you could get out this way?”

Tallis hesitated, clearly uncertain which direction made her look less bad. “Does it matter?” she said at last. “We either go on or we go back.”

“Then we go on.” Hawke moved on ahead, Tallis hurrying at her side to keep up with her longer strides.

Beyond the gate lay a short bridge over an underground river. On the other side of the bridge, a man stood, a massive man with his arms crossed over his chest. Hawke stopped in front of him, recognizing the Duke’s Chasind bodyguard.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him crisply.

He grinned. “The Duke has his own plans, but I have heard stories about you. You are a warrior worthy of pitting my skill—and that of certain friends of mine—against.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “I’m so flattered. You wouldn’t want to do this later, would you?”

In answer, the Chasind drew his sword.

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

Behind him, she could see other fighters ranged, waiting for them in the dimness of the cavern. She glanced at Tallis, the biggest unknown in this situation.

“Are you with me, or against me?” 

Tallis drew her daggers. “I got you into this, I’m helping to get you out.”

“Excellent.” Hawke drew her own sword and advanced on the Chasind, who met her first strike with a forceful one of his own and a wild grin.

She didn’t even have to look to know that Fenris and Varric had joined the combat. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go into battle without them, and hoped she would never have to find out. 

Tallis was everywhere, rolling and whirling, her daggers flashing. She hadn’t fought this well since the first time they’d met in the Crow ambush in Kirkwall. 

The Chasind was good, and if Hawke had faced him alone it would have been a difficult contest, but he wasn’t used to fighting someone with Tallis’s speed and unpredictability, and that turned the course of the fight. 

At last he lay unmoving at Hawke’s feet, his collected fighters taken care of by Fenris and Varric.

“Thank you,” Hawke said to Tallis.

“The least I could do.” Tallis fidgeted a little. “I … could really use your help.”

“Finding Salit?”

“Finding him,and preventing him from making a huge mistake that will hurt a lot of innocent people. I know that I lied to you, and you have no reason to trust me, or to help me, but … will you, anyway?”

Hawke turned and looked at Fenris and Varric. 

The dwarf shrugged. “We came all this way, and I wasn’t wild about the Duke’s hospitality.”

The corner of Fenris’s mouth quirked. “What I find most charming about you is that you actually think we might not know that you have already decided to assist.”

“That’s what you find most charming?” Varric asked, frowning at the elf.

“In present company,” Fenris amended, his eyes steady on Evelyn’s. 

Hawke felt her cheeks pinkening. When she got that elf home, she was keeping him there for a good long time. She looked at Tallis, who was too tense about the answer to be amused by the discussion. “I guess we’re helping. But if you lie to me again, the Duke will be the least of your concerns.”

“Understood. And … thank you.”

As Tallis led them through the rest of the tunnel, Hawke heard Fenris behind her, grumbling, “Now we are helping the Qunari?”

She could practically hear Varric’s shrug as he replied, “We’re helpers. It’s what we do.”

“Yes, but why?”

There was a plaintiveness in Fenris’s tone that suggested he was tiring of this endless string of tasks to perform on behalf of other people. Hawke didn’t entirely disagree—but at the same time, she couldn’t imagine just staying home and reading books and playing cards, either. Somehow she and Fenris were going to need to come up with a solution that was halfway between the two.

But now wasn’t that time; she followed Tallis out the hidden entrance to the tunnels, pushing their way through a low-growing bush that obscured the opening. 

“I suppose you know where this Salit is supposed to be meeting the Duke?” she asked.

Tallis nodded. She looked confident, but there was a tension in her that Hawke didn’t entirely trust. It could come from knowing she had to face someone she had once trusted and cared for … but it could also come from lying through her teeth, and Hawke’s experiences with Tallis so far meant that either one was a believable option.

The morning was a beautiful one, the sun high in the sky and the air warm, with just a hint of a scented breeze. It made Hawke want to twine her fingers with Fenris’s and draw him deep into the forest, just the two of them. Instead, she waited for Tallis to lead them on to certain complications, probable combat, and the strong possibility of something going terribly wrong.

As they walked, Fenris’s foot brushed against something, and he stooped to pick it up. It was a jagged piece of metal, with markings that looked oddly familiar. He turned it over, looking at it more carefully, flashes of memory coming to him. He had known people who wore amulets with this symbol on them, people who had taken him in and cared for him, people who had fought for him, people who— He closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more.

And then Hawke was there, at his elbow. “You found another piece,” she said, her gentle touch on his arm bringing him back out of the darkness.

“Another piece?”

She produced two more pieces, and hesitantly he pushed them all together on his palm to form one single amulet.

“Fog Warriors, right?”

Fenris nodded, unable to speak. “You collected these, even knowing … knowing what I’d done?”

“Yes. Of course I did. Fenris, that wasn’t you. That was Danarius’s slave. I have to think, if these Fog Warriors were as loyal and caring as you say they were, that they knew that, too.”

“I wish I could tell them …”

“I know you do.” Her arm slipped around his waist, holding him tightly, and he leaned against her. “Remember what they taught you; they were free, you said.”

He looked at her, holding her gaze steadily. “And they taught me how to love.”

Evelyn smiled at him. “They did it very well.”

Again she wished they could just melt into the trees and be alone, and she cursed the impulse that had led her to agree to help Tallis. Had it been boredom, the challenge of defeating the Duke, the faint contempt in Tallis’s eyes at the idea of the Champion of Kirkwall turning away from an adventure? Had it been that she really didn’t know what she would do with herself if she went home and simply lived?

She heard Tallis call her name, and saw that the elf had stumbled—accidentally, or on purpose, more likely—on a group of Qunari warriors. 

“Time to get back to work,” she said to Fenris, whose markings were already glowing.

“Apparently so.”

And they did it efficiently. They had fought Qunari enough times to know the weaknesses of their attacks, as had Varric. Tallis was fighting more out of emotion than skill; whatever this Salit was about to do, it had the elf very angry.

It was over quickly; Hawke was too weary of it all to prolong the fighting, aqnd the others seemed to feel the same.

When the Qunari were down, Tallis went around looking for one who was still conscious.

“Qunari on a hillside. Feels like old times, eh, Hawke?” Varric asked, sighing.

“These aren’t Qunari,” Tallis snapped. “They’re Tal-Vashoth. Like Salit, but for sale.”

“I know Tal-Vashoth when I see them,” Hawke snapped back. 

“Then call them that.” Tallis knelt next to one of the fallen, asking questions in Qunlat, her voice gentle. Fenris listened with interest, but didn’t translate the conversation. At last, Tallis buried her dagger in the Tal-Vashoth’s throat and stood up, her face a mask. “Salit is meeting with the Duke farther down the mountain.”

“Down the mountain we go, then,” Varric said.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hawke turned and led the way, Tallis trailing behind, her shoulders slumped.


	8. The Heart of the Many

There was a set of ruins toward the bottom of the mountain, and even from a distance, they could see the group of Qunari warriors who stood there. 

Tallis stopped, staring down the hill. “That’s Salit,” she said in a soft voice. “The one in front.”

“What are you going to do?” Hawke asked her.

“I’m going down there to stop him.”

Behind her, Hawke heard Varric mutter, “It’s about time.” 

She heartily agreed. “Good. Let’s get this over with.”

Tallis nodded and disappeared into the trees. 

“She appears intent on an ambush,” Fenris said.

Hawke sighed. “Yes, she does. Come on.”

“We’re joining the ambush?” Varric asked. 

“Of course not. We’re going to put an end to this.” Hawke strode down the hill, entering the ruins to find Duke Prosper hectoring a large Qunari, who was simply standing there and staring at the duke as though he was a particularly annoying small child.

Both of them turned to look at her as she approached, Fenris and Varric behind her.

Prosper frowned. “Champion. I should have known you would turn up.”

“How else could I thank you for your fine hospitality?”

“Remaining in it would have been a start,” Prosper snapped. He was coming toward her when a clash of swords behind him arrested his attention. Tallis had snuck in while he was distracted by Hawke and was in the middle of neatly decimating his guards.

The Qunari looked at her impassively. “Tallis.”

“Kill her!” Prosper screeched.

Tallis stopped in front of the Qunari, looking up at him with sadness on her face. “I said I would stop you, Salit.”

“And I said I would slay you if you tried.”

They looked at one another, very clearly understanding each other, while Prosper, behind them, puffed himself up and announced, “If anyone is going to do any slaying, it will be me!”

But Bianca had something to say to that; a quarrel embedded itself in the duke’s shoulder, sending him staggering backward. Salit and Tallis were facing off, their focus on each other, his sword and her daggers.

Hawke and Fenris drew their swords and stood back to back, ready to take on the rest of the Qunari and Prosper’s men, but neither group seemed particularly interested. The Qunari were taking their cue from Salit, who was focused entirely on Tallis, and Prosper’s men saw Prosper trying to draw his sword with the crossbow bolt hampering his movement and seemed undecided whether to aid him or flee.

Fenris turned the tide when he activated his lyrium markings; Prosper’s men would clearly rather face the duke’s wrath later than Fenris’s right now, and they broke almost as one man and ran for the exit, Prosper shouting after them.

With a small, very pleased smile, Fenris began stalking toward Prosper, who backed away and away until he was at the very edge of the cliff. “Do you yield?” the elf asked him.

“Never!” Prosper took another step backward and slipped, his arms windmilling frantically. He caught himself with his left hand gripping the stones.

Hawke crossed the ruins to look down at the duke. 

“The empress will hear of this!” he promised her. “Orlais will burn Kirkwall to the ground!”

“Over a fop like you?”

He actually gnashed his teeth. “All of you will die screaming. I swear it!”

“You’re really not in a position to make threats,” she pointed out. “Personally, I would have tried begging for mercy.”

Fenris looked at her, frowning. “I only wish that were true.”

Hawke gave him a small smile. He wasn’t wrong; she had never begged for mercy yet, and probably would never have given someone like Prosper the satisfaction. She looked down at the duke. “I suppose I have to haul you up now.”

Prosper almost looked grateful as she reached down for him, but he also must have relaxed his grip, because he suddenly lost hold of the stone and fell, his shout of surprise and horror echoing off the rocks.

As she watched, Hawke tried to summon the will to care, but she couldn’t seem to find it in herself. She couldn’t remember ever having watched someone die with so little emotion; probably somewhere in there was a lesson for her, she thought.

A strong arm slid around her waist, and she turned to look at Fenris. “Let’s go home,” he said. 

“Yes. Let’s.”

“Oh, thank the sodding Maker,” Varric said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d never be ready to go.”

Behind them, the Qunari were filing out of the ruins silently while Tallis knelt next to the still body of Salit. She was murmuring something in Qunlat as Hawke came up behind her.

“Did you get what you came for?”

“Too much,” Tallis said bitterly. She stood up, brandishing a scroll. “The Heart of the Many. Names of men, women, and children with ties to the Qunari all over Thedas.”

Hawke looked at the scroll. Perhaps she ought to be taking that; perhaps it was a weapon against the Qunari should they rise up against the rest of Thedas. But, again, she couldn’t seem to find it in herself to care … not enough to fight Tallis for the scroll, anyway.

“Thank you,” Tallis said, as though she had read the dilemma in Hawke’s eyes. “I couldn’t have done this without your help.” She reached into a pocket and drew out a large ruby, tossing it to Hawke. “Before I forget, that’s for you.”

“Payment?”

“You could say that. Under my original plan, that was going to be the jewel you found while I went off to find Salit.”

Hawke turned the jewel over in her hand. “Isabela might like it.”

“It seems rather gaudy,” Fenris pointed out.

Varric laughed. “Elf, have you met Rivaini? She eats gaudiness like that for breakfast.”

Tallis watched the byplay and shook her head. “I wish you all luck in … whatever you do next. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”

“Just for the novelty, next time, try telling the truth,” Hawke said.

With a nod, Tallis turned and left, leaving the three of them there in the ruins. 

“Hawke, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not go back to Prosper’s house and have everyone asking us where he is.”

She chuckled. “No, I imagine the questions would rather delay our journey home.”

“So we walk?” Fenris made a face.

“Unless you’d prefer the carriage.” Hawke said it lightly, but remembering the difficulties he’d had in the carriage, she really wasn’t certain which he would prefer.

He thought about that for a moment. “If it gets us home faster, perhaps it would be preferable.”

“Good,” Varric said in relief. “Glad to see you’re both seeing reason. Now, let’s get to the stable and get the carriage and get out of here!”

“After you.” Hawke let him go first and followed more slowly, Fenris’s arm around her, feeling a bone-deep weariness that even the thought of home and friends and garden couldn’t assuage.


	9. Time to Rest

The trip back to Kirkwall was long and not particularly pleasant. Hawke was weary to the point of speechlessness, and spent much of the time curled in a corner of the carriage trying to sleep and failing utterly; Fenris was nearly catatonic with memory; and Varric, left to himself, polished Bianca until there was some danger of him running out of the special, and very expensive, stuff he used on her stock.

All three of them were relieved to alight from the carriage, sending along their thanks to Aveline for the loan, and make their way through Hightown to Hawke’s estate. Varric came along without thinking, so used to following Hawke wherever she went that it didn’t occur to him to go off to the Hanged Man immediately.

The estate was quiet, no sound but the quiet ticking of the clock above the mantel and the soft hiss of the flames in the fireplace. Hawke was just breathing a sigh of relief when a figure appeared from the shadows.

“Maker’s breath!” Hawke exclaimed, leaping back in surprise even as she recognized Isabela. “Why are you lurking in the dark in my house?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Surely there are less startling ways to get my attention.”

Isabela ignored the comment, rushing to the point in a way uncharacteristic of her. “It’s about Bethany.”

“What about her?” Fear gripped Hawke by the throat. If anything had happened to her sister while she was off playing puppet for that Qunari elf …

“She’s in danger. We—She needs to get out of the tower. Out of Kirkwall.”

“What did you do, Rivaini?” Varric asked. There was no implicit criticism in the question, but Isabela bristled at it anyway.

“Not a thing, Varric. You know when I don’t want to be seen, I’m not seen.”

Fenris snorted. “That is an exaggeration at best.”

It was a testament to how disturbed Isabela was that she barely glanced at him in response, her eyes immediately coming back to Hawke.

“What happened, Isabela?”

“I was in her rooms at the top of the tower …”

“What were you doing in Bethany’s rooms?” Evelyn asked, confused. “No one’s allowed in there. And you can’t get in there unless you’re a mage.”

Isabela shrugged, but she suddenly couldn’t meet Evelyn’s eyes. “It’s child’s play if you’re used to climbing ship’s rigging in a storm.”

“Why were—“ Evelyn caught herself. “You and my sister are still …?”

“Come on, Hawke, you had to know,” Varric said from behind her. “Everyone else did.”

“Everyone?” Evelyn whirled to face Fenris, who nodded slowly.

“You did not wish to be aware of the growing relationship, so I did not bring it to your attention unduly.”

“Relationship?” She turned around again to look at Isabela.

The pirate took a deep breath and a quick step toward Evelyn. “You may not want to believe this,” she said, “but I love her.”

“Bethany? You … you love Bethany?”

Isabela nodded. “Yes.”

“And she …?”

There was a fierce, happy pride in Isabela’s face. “Yes.”

The two women stood looking at each other for a long moment before Evelyn sighed and nodded. “All right, then. Let’s say I believe you truly care for my sister, and put that all aside for the moment. How do you know she’s in danger?”

“Well, you know how they reassigned Cullen and put this crazy Orlesian in as Knight-Commander? His restrictions have been getting tighter, but it’s mostly the female mages he’s … restricting.” Isabela made a face. “If you get my drift.”

“Did he—?” Evelyn felt the familiar rage and helplessness and quick defense of her sister rising in her.

“No. And it pisses him right off that she’s gotten away from him so often. But … he’s not going to be patient much longer. The last time I was there, he caught us at an … um … interesting point, and he accused Bethany of hiding someone in her room.” Isabela flushed. “Which was true, but not in the way he meant. And he threatened her.” She looked at Hawke beseechingly. “She’s really afraid. We—she wants to come away with me. We’ll take the Temptress and be gone. But … we need your help.”

“Of course.” The answer came automatically to Hawke’s lips. Bethany had been her responsibility all her life; in some ways, she always would be. And if this was truly what her sister wanted, then … it was Hawke’s job to get it for her.

Behind her, she heard the faintest sigh from Fenris. She would hear about this decision later, she was sure.

But for now, the important task was Bethany, and her safety. She looked at Isabela. “I take it you have a plan?”

The pirate nodded. 

“You know I’m the first person they’re going to suspect, and Varric the second?”

“Of course I do! I’m not a ninny!” 

Varric gave a very faint chuckle, but wiped the smile off his face as soon as Isabela turned to glare at him. 

“We want you to come with us,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Me? On a ship? That’ll be the day, Rivaini.”

“I thought you’d say that.” She turned her face toward Hawke. “What about you?”

“Go with you? Where?”

“Anywhere.” There was a faraway look on Isabela’s face that Evelyn envied. Nothing made her feel like that—well, nothing other than Fenris. 

She turned to look at him. His face was impassive, as always, but there was a steadiness in that green gaze, a faint gleam. This was what he wanted, to go away from Kirkwall, somewhere that she wasn’t the Champion and he was … something other than the escaped slave he had been when he first came here. 

Evelyn was swayed; Fenris had stood by her through so much, and he was tired of fighting. So was she, for that matter. And there would never be a rest in Kirkwall, not truly.

Then she looked at Varric. The dwarf was smiling; he knew. But he wouldn’t come, and Evelyn wasn’t sure she could face a life without this man who had been her friend for so long. The choice was to rip her heart out one way or another—she would lose Bethany and hurt Fenris, or she would lose Varric.

“Look, I’ll leave you alone to think about it. But you have to decide soon; we need to leave with the tide, day after tomorrow, so we need to get Bethany out tomorrow night.”

“Isabela.”

The pirate stopped in the door and looked at her. “You’re going to take care of my sister, right? You make her a wanted apostate, and that’s a lifelong commitment on her part. I just …”

“Hawke …” Isabela paused, clearly thinking out what she wanted to say, which told Evelyn how seriously she was taking the question. “Your sister is a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions—and her own mistakes. What’s between her and me … is between her and me. If you can’t handle that … well, it’s something else for you to think about before you decide whether to come along.” Quietly, she left the room, her walk as swagger-free as Evelyn had ever seen it.

After a long moment, Varric chuckled. “Rivaini in love. Who’d have thought it?”

“You think so?”

“She stood up to you on Sunshine’s behalf, Hawke. No one’s ever had the stones to do that before; I think it says a lot.”

Evelyn sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She stood there, helplessly, unable to decide between these two men she loved so.

And then Varric, ever generous, stepped forward and took her hand. “Hawke … you know where I’ll be. Where I’ll always be, any time you need me.”

“You could come,” she said, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, not now.

“No, I couldn’t. Kirkwall is my home. Always has been, always will be. But it isn’t yours, and it never really was.” He squeezed her hand. “As long as you’re here, people will always be coming to you for help, dragging you into fights you didn’t want.” Glancing over his shoulder at Fenris, Varric added, “And the elf there will go out of his mind with worry.”

Fenris didn’t argue with the assertion.

“Varric.” There were so many things Evelyn wanted to say to this man who had been so much to her for so long. “If I hadn’t found you here—“

He smiled, but she could see the shine of tears in his eyes, too. “You’d probably be viscount. I kept you honest, Hawke.”

“You kept me sane.”

Varric laughed at that. “I don’t know about that.” He blinked. “Now, before we get into the real waterworks, I’m going to go.” He looked at Fenris. “Elf.”

“Dwarf.” They nodded at one another.

“You take care of her.”

“I have no other purpose in life,” Fenris said softly.

“I believe it. And I’m grateful for it. Hawke, you say hello to Sunshine for me, and good-bye to Rivaini, and remember to write me all about your exploits as pirates.” He grinned. “Probably just what you need.”

Evelyn laughed. “Somehow I doubt that, but it will be a change of pace. Take care of yourself, Varric.”

“Me? Always.”

He left, the door closing softly behind him, and Evelyn couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Fenris stepped forward and held her as she wept.

“It isn’t … that I don’t want to go,” she managed to get out between sobs.

“I know.”

“But … this is … he’s … I—“

“I understand.”

Evelyn pulled her head back and looked at him. “You want to go.”

“You know that I do.”

“Far away, no more fighting, just the two of us?”

Fenris smiled at her. “The two of us, your sister and her lover, and dozens of sailors.”

“Well, that sounds just how I pictured it.” Evelyn laughed, swiping at her cheeks.

“Perhaps it is a bit of an alteration,” he conceded. “Still …”

“I know. I’m ready to retire, Fenris, with you. To go away from here. But—Varric …” The tears threatened again and she tried to swallow them back.

“We will find a way. I would no sooner separate you permanently from Varric than I would attempt to separate him from Bianca.”

Evelyn put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I love you.”

“And I you.”  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Hawke stretched luxuriantly in the warm sun. Truth be told, it was almost too warm, but the sensation of lying here while the ship gently rocked beneath her with absolutely nothing to do, and being all-but-guaranteed not to be disrupted by someone who wanted her to go do something complicated involving fighting powerful people, was too delicious to give up.

“You’re going to burn if you don’t get into the shade.” Isabela’s tone was affectionate for all its bossiness—being back in command of her ship had revealed an entirely new side of the insouciant pirate. She was Captain Isabela now, and the Temptress of the Seas was indisputably hers.

As was Bethany, which still threw Evelyn off a bit. She had never imagined seeing her sister like this, so happy that the slightest touch or briefest glance from her lover lit her up from the inside out. It was not unlike the way Fenris looked sometimes, an idea that made Hawke smile.

Perhaps it was all for the best, then—surely her parents would be glad to see both their surviving children happily settled with people who loved them, no matter how unconventional. To see Evelyn have the chance to put her sword down, Bethany have the opportunity to be valued for something other than her magic, and to revel in freedom.

The sailors didn’t seem to care a whit that Bethany was a mage. They liked having one on the ship in case of injury or battle, and were too practical and too skilled at fighting themselves to worry about her becoming an abomination. Isabela had blithely assured them that should such a thing happen, the sailors would cut the creature down without a thought and bury it at sea with all the honor Bethany had earned among them. It had seemed rather cold-hearted to Evelyn, but Bethany appeared to be comforted by the idea.

A shadow blocked out the sun, and Evelyn opened her eyes, looking up to see the warm green eyes she loved so. “You are turning an alarming shade of red,” Fenris told her. “Isabela ordered me to take you to the cabin.” He smiled, a genuine, open smile such as Evelyn rarely saw in him.

“What a difficult task you have.” She held her hands out to him and he helped her up. “Anyone would think I didn’t know where the cabin was.”

“Perhaps Isabela was merely looking out for my best interests.” The smile deepened, becoming suggestive and promising.

“I’m sure she was.” Evelyn gripped his hand more tightly as they crossed the deck. “Mine, too.”

In their cabin below, he took her into his arms, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’m glad to see you so content,” Evelyn said, bringing a hand up to cup the side of his face.

“You are content as well, are you not?”

She thought about it. The lack of Varric was an ever-present ache in her heart, but he would write. The ship didn’t offer much in the way of training space, and her muscles felt the lack of her usual physical activity. And she wasn’t used to the idea that a hundred sailors could hear every sound Fenris liked to draw out of her in the midst of her pleasure.

But on the other hand, Bethany was safe, and happy. Isabela was at the helm of her own ship again, everything right in her world. And Fenris was more relaxed and at peace than she had ever seen him. And there was time … time to rest and to play and to make love and to lie in the sun.

“Yes,” she said to Fenris. “I am content.”


End file.
